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Rubbing her hand, he asked, “When was the last time you two slept together?”
She pulled back quickly. “Dallas, that’s none of your business.”
“Fine . . . you don’t have to answer it, but you’re far too beautiful a woman to be so lonely.”
“Dallas, let’s change the subject.”
King had taken her down this road before, and he was gaining ground. Dunn was having serious doubts about her marriage. She knew that King wanted her, and she thought this might be the time to give up the jewel. This was the biggest story in three decades, and no one had any idea what was going on inside the White House or the FBI’s command post. No one was talking. The crisis had people tight-lipped. If sleeping with King meant she could get some info out of him, it might be worth it.
The drinks arrived, and King took a big sip. He let the dry merlot run down his throat and then said, “You wouldn’t believe the shit that’s going on down there.”
Dunn leaned forward and placed her forearms on the table. “Like what?”
Rolling his eyes, King said, “Tutwiler, that stupid bitch. She’s the damn reason Schwartz and his secretary are dead. It was her stupid idea to jerk this nut-bag’s chain and only send him part of the money.” King stopped briefly and took a sip, thinking of the warning the man from the CIA had given all of them—that Aziz would react exactly the way he did.
“I tried to advise against it, but she won out. You know how she is. She took charge of the entire briefing at the Pentagon yesterday. The damn woman has the worst case of penis envy I’ve ever seen. She just couldn’t pass up the chance to put all of those military types in their place.” King stopped and shook his head. “And to make things worse, she’s not around to take the heat. She had a fucking nervous breakdown after Schwartz got shot. They had to cart her off to Bethesda.”
Dunn’s jaw hung loosely. “You’re kidding?”
“No.” King shook his head for emphasis. “I wish I was. I wish she was here to take the heat.” King pointed to himself. “Now I’m the one who’s getting squeezed.”
Dunn set her wine down and started tapping at the keys of her laptop. “So Tutwiler is out . . . What in the hell is the FBI up to?” Dunn watched King shrug his shoulders and take another drink. She was going to have to work for this one. “Come on, Dallas. Just give me some good background. I’m not asking you to give away any national secrets.” Dunn paused to give him a second to think about it, and then in a soft voice she asked, “What’s the FBI up to?”
King looked over the top of his wineglass. “They’re planning for every possible contingency. Collecting information and trying to find a way out of this. Sherman has told them that unless they can guarantee getting the rest of the hostages out safely, we sit tight.”
“What about the president? Is all that crap your boss spun in his address the truth?”
“He’s fine.” King nodded emphatically. “Just like Sherman said.” Then waving his hand in the air as if the president was a nonfactor, he added, “The people at the Pentagon say he can last for weeks in that bunker.” King took another drink and then leaned forward. With his nose perched above the screen of Dunn’s laptop, King breathed in her perfume and said, “You smell great.”
“Thank you.” Dunn smiled halfheartedly and then got back to business. “What else is going on? Do you know what their next demand is going to be?”
“Nope. We’re not supposed to hear anything until the morning.” King’s attention was drawn downward. Dunn’s blouse was open one more button than normal, and a scintillating amount of soft skin was drawing his mind into a completely different area again. He looked down her shirt and said, “I want to get naked with you so bad.”
Dunn grabbed him by the jaw and made him look her in the eye. “This stuff you gave me about Tutwiler is good, Dallas, but there’s more going on than you’re telling me, and if you want to get me into bed, you’re going to have to do a lot better . . . and fast.”
King felt the blood rushing to his groin. His mind scrambled for any piece of information that might seal the deal, but he’d told her everything that was going on. The truth was, nothing was going on. Everybody was sitting around and waiting to react . . . except . . . except one person. King pulled away and sat back. He couldn’t talk about that, but there was something related that he could talk about—something that would play great in the press. “There is one thing.” Pausing, he tried to gauge how much information he could hand over.
Dunn saw his hesitancy and drew closer. “What . . . what is it?”
King looked around the immediate area and then leaned forward. “Listen, no one can find out I told you this.”
Dunn feigned insult. “Dallas, I’ve never revealed one of my sources.”
Unimpressed, King rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is that this is serious-shit, all right?”
Dunn nodded eagerly. “You have my word. Your name will never be revealed.”
The vice president’s chief of staff looked around once again to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and then, in a whisper, he said, “The CIA knew about this attack before it happened.”
Dunn’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “What? And they didn’t do anything about it?”
“No.” King shook his head. “They only found out just before it happened. As soon as they found out, they alerted the Secret Service. That’s why Hayes made it to his bunker.”
“So the CIA saved the day.”
King shrugged. “It was hardly a banner day, but I sup
pose you could say that.”
